Man on Fire
by riveriver
Summary: There is one kidnapping every 60 minutes in Latin America. 70% of the victims do not survive. Arthur, a former Marine, swears vengeance on those who have abducted Merlin in a desperate bid to stop him from becoming a statistic. Rating subject to change.
1. Chapter 1

**Man on Fire**

_based on the film of the same name starring Denzel Washington, an adaptation of A. J. Quinnell's 1980 novel of the same name_

* * *

There was trained, and there was untrained.

Arthur Pendragon was trained. He was what you might call 'strong', but he was strong because he was the best at what he did. At what he used to do.

"You been working?" Leon asked.

"Yeah," Arthur replied, about to spew a line of lies before he hesitated. Leon could see right through him, and always had done. "No. How's business?"

"Japanese are here in a big way. Cheap labour, factory space, but they feel a lot safer living over the border in El Paso. I ferry them back and forth. They think I'm John Wayne."

"Hah!"

John Wayne was not a soldier. Arthur and Leon were the soldiers, part of the army; a force of America. Like Leon, Arthur had entwined himself with the life of a protector in every way he knew how, and if he hadn't known then he had learnt. Arthur wasn't a part of the American forces. He had become the force itself. He was the best. He had been the best. An expert with all weapons, a Marine. A discharged Marine.

Leon and Arthur became well known throughout the Marines when they had served. Arthur, a teacher, and Leon his pupil. Together they had become formidable. They were of similar background; both their fathers had served in the U.S Armed Forces, and they had both been recruited at the same age of 19. Leon's father had died, while Arthur's father, Uther Pendragon, was confined to a wheelchair and he now spent the remainder of his days in something that could only be described as a palace. The Pendragon family were rich. They had millions of dollars to burn, but Uther preferred to use his money for power. He was a selfish man, a hard man, and he had pushed his son towards the same fate he had suffered without so much as blinking. He cared not for his son, or his daughters Morgana and Morgause.

When Arthur had been discharged from the Marines, so had Leon. They were what was called 'the sole surviving son or daughter', which meant that they had family—usually a parent or sibling—who had served in the Armed Forces.

"We're too old," Leon had told his comrade as they eyed the fresh meat on the dirt. Boys, who were being put through their paces by a drill sergeant. There were many of them, so many that Arthur could not count and nor did he want to. Neither man had requested their discharge. They had been forced out. They were on the verge of thirty and they were no longer wanted.

"No we're not. You know why." Arthur had eyed Leon. It was not because they were old. They were unwanted, yes, but not without reason. Leon had dropped his gaze and had become angry after that, angry at the past, but he and Arthur had stayed together nonetheless. They missed the discipline, the structure, the comfort their life had brought. They shared a feeling of loss, and had become even closer, more partners in life than brothers—though they would have killed you for accusing them of sleeping together—and like a magnet to a fridge they were drawn to the life of a mercenary.

"You think God will forgive us for what we have done?"

Leon did not answer for a long while. Arthur accepted the silence, and he proceeded to make friends with a bottle of Jack Daniels that Leon had brought to the table from his cabinet.

"How long you saying?" Leon finally asked.

"I don't know. I wanted to see you, Leon. Just wanted to see how you doing. Came by on impulse."

"I could do with some of that." Leon wrenched the bottle of Jack from Arthur's hands before taking a decent mouthful for himself, then he passed it back, surrendering it. He rose from his chair. "Come on. The wife will be waiting."

"She still doesn't have a sister?" Arthur's eyes were teasing.

"Not for you."


	2. Chapter 2

Two men sat at a table in a popular and expensive restaurant. Both in suits, one bearded and relaxed, sure of the money he was going to make, that he was making, with the other looking remarkably stressed. It made him look older than he really was.

"Did you ever find out what happened? To that kid? What was it. . . Santiago?" Tristan de Bois lowered his fork, waiting for his answer from the man who had been his lawyer from the second his father had died. Aredian Dance was American, came from the same state as his wife, and the man liked to believe that he held a steady relationship with his client despite Aredian having been somewhat apart of the inheritance Tristan's father had left his son.

"Family paid the ransom," the lawyer replied offhandedly. His fork waved in the air as he spoke, his hand trying to dismiss the conversation. "Sent the kid home after a few days. Minus an ear. Or a toe. I forget." He was more interested in the extravagant meal he had ordered, which he was making short work of.

"Now every mother in Mexico City wants bigger bodyguards. My wife included." Tristan's tone was bitter, as if he blamed the boy named Santiago for his wife's new demands.

"She's right." Aredian sighed again. "Look, all of my clients have kidnap and ransom insurance—"

"I have a policy." Tristan's voice was adamant, as if convincing himself. "My dad gave it to me."

The older man sighed. "I _know_. I got it for your dad, Tristan. But what are you going to do in 40 days when you can't renew it because you have no bodyguard? Look. You gotta please Hunith. A guard is like anything else. You get what you pay for. Get one with a decent resume. Someone cheap. You don't need a Superman, do you?"

Tristan shook his head. No, he did not. The last bodyguard he had employed had resembled a Shrek rather than Superman, and he had been an expensive Shrek.

"So you renew the policy and then fire him, for competence or some shit. The most important thing is that the boy gets to go back to school and your wife can save face in front of the other mothers. She cares about what people say, does she not? This way, you won't be the only unprotected family in the neighbourhood." Aredian seemed pleased with the case he had made and he sat back in his chair, his meal finished. The older man reached for his wine glass, and he swirled the liquid absent-mindedly as he waited for Tristan to consider his words.

They both knew that he was right. His wife, Hunith, was a proud woman and her son Merlin was desperate to go back to school. Tristan cared little; the boy was not his, and his wife was one of the most self-centred women he knew. She trumped all of the wives in the neighbourhood, with her quick mind and her wit and her beauty, but she was quick to spend money and it was a problem with Tristan's already existing financial problems. Aredian was always reassuring, always told Tristan to stop being so pessimistic. It could be sorted out, and Tristan would never have to lift a finger.

"You have this problem because you indulge Hunith a little too much—and her son. His charm is only rivalled in all of Mexico by Hunith's. But that's okay, any man married to her would do the same. I certainly would. She is a beauty, maybe a little dramatic by pulling young Merlin out of school after that boy was kidnapped and she will never admit she was wrong. But, she can save face. Hire a bodyguard. Send the kid back to school, renew the policy, then fire the bastard."

"Alright."

Aredian grinned, pleased. "Make sure he's cheap."

* * *

"A bodyguard." Arthur's tone was disbelieving. "Yeah, right. Think they would hire a drunk? A has-been?"

"Even at half speed, you're pretty damn good. You'll be the silent type. They will appreciate that." Leon glanced at his closest friend in the mirror. Arthur was slumped in the backseat, not quite drunk but not quite sober, and Leon realised for the first time how much his friend had really let himself go. Leon was no longer an oil painting himself, but he had a beautiful wife and money and he was appreciated for who he was, for what he did. Leon had made a life for himself in Mexico, while Arthur wasted away in California. It was a world away from Uther Pendragon, who lived on the opposite side of North America in West Virginia. Arthur liked it that way.

"I couldn't guard a corpse!"

"You'd have to keep your drinking under control, obviously. Drink at night."

Arthur scoffed quietly, but Leon heard. "Who's the guy?"

Leon smiled wryly to himself. Hooked. "Tristan de Bois. Owns one of the plants in Juárez." The car took a sharp left, and Leon slammed his hand down on the horn. "Jap car industry is in the shitter," he continued, his calm tone a stark contrast to the aggression he showed on the road. Arthur had never sat in the front passenger seat when Leon took the wheel. "He's trying to persuade Ford to partner with him. I think he is in trouble. His family lives in Mexico City. He asked me if I knew anybody I could trust."

"And you thought of me? I'm not good at being close to someone."

"Like I said. You'll be a silent type. Take a job, Bear. Breathe a bit. Jesus. Then you can decide if you want to stick around. Besides, I'll get to see you, you know? I got nobody to talk to down here."

Arthur smiled to himself in the back seat as he looked out of the window, watching the faces of the locals blur into nothing. Leon usually only called Arthur by the old nickname he had been slapped with in the Marines when he wanted something, and Leon usually got what he wanted.


End file.
